The Passing of Youth

as parents we wear so many hats in any given day. We are teachers and diagnostic agents and coaches and best friends and sex educators and clergy to our little ones. As children we felt invincible and that our parents and elders didn't know squat about what was going on in our lives. It is hard to squeeze the generation gaps together because "youth" is unwise and will always see "age" as nothing more than ignorant and past. I see the world differently and it jades my vision, but you all should know that by now if you've been paying attention.

I get weary from all the hat changing I have done with my one child. And it still isn't enough as I find I choose to "mother" those around me in dire need of a slap upside the head! I have parented spouses and lovers and nephews and nieces and my own parents when they needed the swift kick. I have played nurse and doctor all the while wearing a priest's robe as I poked holes in my husbands finger, clean to the bone and in a circular pattern, to cut off the blood supply, from where he was bit by a brown recluse and praying this old wisdom worked and was blessed by the fates as good knowledge. To this day I am sure hubby number two has no feeling in the top of that finger and there is a recess where the tissue became necrotic for a short period and discolored, though there were enough invisible capillaries to feed it and keep it viable without passing the venom to other areas. His friend was not as lucky and almost lost his leg. I diagnosed the both of them and my hubby had seen my "work" on more than one previous occasion and tried as he could to convince his buddy I was good, his ignorance of youth cost him two muscles from his leg, for what was a small infected area no bigger than my beloved's finger. I laugh thinking about that as it is a prime example of how ignorant a person can be and how we undermine ourselves through close-minded thinking.

If I hadn't worn the hats I do, who else would care for the sick, preach to the lost, feed the hungry, embrace the unloved, comfort the sad, hold the grieved, teach the unlearned? I do these things everyday and my only unhappiness is in the fact that so many question me and I have no answers as to how and why I know the things I do, and the fact that no one is capable of educating me and haven't been for some time. I am alone and the last of a great generation who passed down their wealth of knowledge the way old aboriginal tribes do. All things pertaining to life and love and procreation and salvation was deemed and brought to the table of the elders to chew and masticate into smaller lessons for the people. Two young hunters go out to hunt a lion in the village and one comes back with tales of death and dismemberment. The village is in an uproar so they send out two more along with the first one who will serve as guide for he was the last one to see the feral beast in action. A day later one hunter returns with tales of death and dismemberment and the council of elders gathers together to discuss what they know. They exchange ideas and decide it is far too dangerous to track the beast on the ground and out in the open. They call for a festival and bring three of their greatest warriors and hunters to rub ash and pitch (for those of you who aren't a damn Yankee from New England, you can call it tree sap) and leaves and blades of reeds and all matter of earthen filth. They set out, one looking like the Serengeti's trees in his appearance, one dressed like the grassy edges of the watering holes and another still meant to blend in with the dry, golden, rocky terrain. They spread out and made noise and pushed the beast to a corner where he could not flee without passing one of the men. The tree dweller jumped on the beast's back and drove a crippling blow with a branch. The lion staggers as the earthen man trips him with the vines he bore as his weapon and finally, the grass man draws bow and arrow from his quiver and delivers the fatal shot from as short a distance as can be licked by the beast had it not been so bewildered.

The village rejoices and heralds the brave warriors who return of stench from their excrement and urine and fear. These men were boys, sober and proud and afraid. They were the strongest of their tribe but the weakest of mind. Everyone gathers around to hear the tale from them of their prowess and suddenly a little girl walks forward and asks "How did you know what to do? I would have been terrified!"

The three proud men, for they became men that day, stared at each other and glanced over at the council. They were ashamed of the glory they took and prostrated themselves at the feet of their forefathers giving thanks for the wisdom that guided them. Of course the wise men forgave them their pride and the celebrations carried on. But the unity of the tribe has been reinforced and made stronger. The boys were humble enough to pay homage to their masters and each one of them would seek them out on their wedding days and their children's birthing days and the days their wives and they had come to arguments. The circle was complete and they learned something then that has been lost today. They learned the value in their aged and wise ones who survived many lion attacks and many diseases and deaths, who survived life with the invisible badges of knowledge and strength of character.

I miss those days. I sat and listened to my grandmothers and grandfathers and mother and father. I did not believe all they spoke of because it was too fantastic to believe to my childish and headstrong ears. But I was fortunate to never forget the lessons taught me regarding keeping peace and healing the sick and teaching my young, as well as yours. Seek out wisdom from your elders and kinfolk in times of great need, but never forget to give credit where credit is due. Pay homage to the centuries of wisdom each holds and celebrate your victory alongside your masters.~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.